


Make Me End Where I Began

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Our state cannot be severed, we are one,<br/>One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.”<br/>--Paradise Lost<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me End Where I Began

**Author's Note:**

> "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?  
> Why are you so far from saving me,  
> so far from my cries of anguish?  
> My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,  
> by night, but I find no rest."  
> \--Psalm 22
> 
> NOTE: if you like reading AO3 on your kindle in the "reading view" just know that the block quotes interacts strangely with that format.

The woman wandered into our compound like a stray cat searching for scraps of meat, innocent but prowling. Her silent feet padded along the colorless walls and led her peeking into the windows of cells intended for prisoners, which were empty until our people found her and pushed her into one.

Now she paces powerful strides around the black corners of her holding cell and sends her tail of dark hair flicking with each round. She grinds her teeth in disjointed saw-like movements and stops only to spit curse words like the jagged remains of a cracked tooth.

This particular room is separated into two conjoined parts: the cell and the annex. Pollux Miller says the room once served as quarters for prisoners with the highest rank until the need for proper interrogation arose, and then it was split in two. The cell is dark everywhere except for the cone of white light in the center of the ceiling while the annex is without shadow in all corners except for the pocket at the heart of the floor where a metal drain lay. Hidden within the wall that both separates and conjoins them is a two-sided mirror that peers into the cell.

Every other lap the woman rounds on the “mirror” with a furrowed glare and searches the tinted glass for a glimpse of our eyes; I can’t help but smile when she accidentally connects eyes with me. My fingers touch the space on the glass where she stands and trace circles around her figure. I like her eyes; flecks of galaxy brimming with space and burning stars.

I’ve never seen a clone with eyes like hers, including my own, which look more like pots of shriveled earth shoved deep into my skull. Not even a worm could wriggle in these dirt-mound eyes.

"Coffee, Rachel?" 

"No," I say, grimacing; too bitter.

Pollux pours his second cup and moves to stand beside me, exhaling the bitter scent of coffee and enormous satisfaction. His lips curl into his cheek and muffle the hum of pleasure he gives as the woman pounds against the glass, but I’m more interested by the jugular twitching under his chin.

 I imagine red moons swelling fat and round along his windpipe and morphing into comets as they roll down his weeping neck.

My nails carve crescent moons into my palm instead, and it’s enough.

> [ANNEX: 0300 HOURS]
> 
> Chilled water pours slowly over the top of my head and streams down my face and eyelids, filling the blistered craters of my lips and wetting my tongue, until a gentle _squeak_ reduces it to a trickle a few feet away.
> 
> I hear softly murmured voices, ' _Is she awake_?', ' _spray her again_ ' And then silence.
> 
> "You may open your eyes now.”
> 
> I first see the several staring eyes of a black nozzle spitting water drops like venom as it coils its emerald, serpentine body in tight circles—then I see the two gloved hands controlling its every move.
> 
> The man drops his arms silently and takes a step closer with his squeaking boots, bringing his face into focus; his round and ruddy cheeks appear innocent at first, but the split of his smile contorts them and reveals the sharp teeth and blood-red gums gleaming beneath.
> 
> The scars rooted in my back throb like ruptured veins under his smile. 
> 
> "Sorry for the cold shower. We were worried you wouldn't wake up," the voice continues while the man's lips remain unmoved in their glistening smile.
> 
> I watch as the water slithers to the drain in indented waves until static alerts the presence of the overhead voice again; a bodiless sound lilted with a soothing but unfamiliar accent.
> 
> “Rachel, my name is Commander Morgenstern. Welcome to Project Castor.”

“I know you’re watching me, you twats!” She screams, rounding on the window once again to demand my attention. The light catches her teeth and sends them glittering like glass fragments (or dangling glass spires). _Where have I seen those before_?

A strange pulse pricks at the back of my eyes when she presses her forehead against the glass. A foggy screen of condensed breath obscures her face and makes her lips nearly unreadable when she whispers, ‘ _Where is Helena_?’

I rock back onto my heels and almost trip over the spot on the floor where my stomach plummeted. _Who’s Helena_? The words sit like mud in my mouth, sodden and formless, refusing to become.

“What’d she say?” Pollux asks.

“She asked where Helena was."

He hesitates, then asks, “Who’s Helena?”

“How should I know?”

“Maybe she was one of those sister-clones you killed.”

A cloud of static blankets my mind; memories cleave in long slivers of light: empty eyes, an expanding puddle of blood, and a knife sheathed in a woman’s side. Random words pelt like hail, “ _choice_ ,” “ _stop_ ,” “ _please_ ,” and “ _God_.”

Blood stains the under flesh of my nails but it’s still not enough—have to—

“Whoa, Rachel, what are you—Rachel!” Pollux throws his hands up and the movement catches my eyes. Blinking, the static that blanketed my mind scatters and returns my vision to clarity. Pollux stares down at me from where he presses against the wall, his mouth gaping wide.

My hand feels warm when I remove it from his throat and clasp it securely behind my back; I pull an expression of remorse over my eyes like a tattered sheep pelt, but my innards are soothed by his fear.

“I was only kidding,” he mutters. 

My tongue is too thick to speak so I turn around and wade back to the glass, listening as Pollux mutters inaudibly into his walkie-talkie, most likely reporting me to the Commander; I force it from my mind.

I’m haunted by almost-memories; sharp fragments of thought that shift within my skull until a word sends them bashing in a frenzy to puncture me like a blade. But I can never piece them together, only dig holes into my flesh like a rabid dog and ride out every blood-drenched moment.

One moment I’m seven with my thumbs knuckle-deep in a (nun’s) sockets, and then I’m in my twenties and squeezing the life out of a clone. I’d do anything to make it stop and replace it with the droning static that occupies me the rest of the day; hallow out my skull and leave me an empty shell. Just make it stop.

Commander’s the only one who tries to make it better. Pollux says they found me rummaging like a beast near their compound, wreaking havoc, a slave to my own whim, and they replaced my claws and gnashing teeth with a sense of purpose. Commander promises to fix me, and my shattered memories.

“Commander wants her dead,” Pollux says, and reaches for the gun sheathed at his belt.  

“What? Why?”

“Stop worrying, you only have to stand guard.”

 _Why is he smiling_? I want to rip out his lips and leave those chattering teeth to drown in blood.  

“Give it,” I say instead, holding out my hand for the walkie-talkie.

I fit the device beside my ear, “Repeat instructions, please.”

“Hello, Rachel," the Commander's smooth voice glides through the speaker. "I've asked Miller to neutralize the clone found infiltrating our compound, last name Manning.”

There’s a moment when all I can hear is the sound of my heart thrashing in my ears. ( _I_ _never_ _got_ _your_ _name)_ the words blink soundlessly behind my eyelids for a moment before dissolving into blackness once more.

“Why?”

“Sacrifice is necessary for the overall good.”

I want to ask more questions but my throat closes up; we are not meant to question the Commander.

I want to say, ' _No_.'

"Maybe if you saw her first, you would feel different," I murmur, cradling the device, "She's special."

When the Commander speaks again, their voice is as bare and sharp as a bone jutting from broken skin.

“You want to be redeemed; this is how it must be done. You have a choice, Rachel, you will let Miller retire Manning, or you will take her place."

( _You have a choice, Helena_ )

I shake away the second voice and watch the blot of darkness that is her face move behind the glass. Her beautiful features morph into a smooth translucency in my mind and create the intended impression of a faceless doll.

Pollux can never kill her.

I would make her death quick and painless—relieving even, if she’s anything like me—while Pollux would drag it out for all the wrong reasons; he would revel in her misery.

“I’ll do it.”

"Very good," the Commander murmurs. The voice resonates sweetly in my ears, overpowering the cutting steel edge it had been just a minute before.

Pollux pushes open the door with an expression pinched in hatred and gestures to the entrance.

“Be quick,” he says as I enter the cell and I kick the door closed behind me.

The moment I enter, the woman slips seamlessly into her surroundings and circles the room on her padded feet, watching me from the shadows; whoever she believes Helena to be, she looks nothing like me.

That will make killing her easier, at least.

But as I approach the center of the room, my eyes flitter to the ceiling like mindless moths and fixate on the bulb of light burning with the intensity of the sun. Strangely transfixed, I watch as expanding black holes consume my vision.

> [CELL: 2400 HOURS]
> 
> The light glares into my eyes like the furious eye of God while blood wets the grooves weaving along my cracked lips and fills my mouth with the taste of salt.
> 
> My ears feel cold and bare and vulnerable to the chilled air circling around me; I want to turn my head and look away but a crown of metal cements my head in place ( _I can't move, I can't move, I can't move_ ). A glossy photograph is shoved before my eyes just as the light starts burning holes into my vision.
> 
> "I want you to tell me what you know about this woman."

Blinking, I tear my gaze from the light and watch as colored distortions dance in the darkness before me. Did I have that memory before? I reel my mind for it again, but it's gone.

"Helena?" Manning croaks, "Is that you?"

 _No_ , I think, as she approaches from the darkness on the other side of the table; a crescent of her face enters first and expands like a waxing moon until her entire face gleams under the light.

She pauses half-crept into the light, "You look different.”

Her eyes fix on the dirt-brown fur covering my scalp and stare until my head feels shrunken and misshapen and my hair shriveled like upturned roots.

I know she sees the gun in my hand, but she ignores it even as I level it to her chest. Her steady strides consume the distance between us and I watch as her shadow glides across the metal table, closer to me. The spotlight casts moons, dark and gibbous, under her eyes which surely match my own.

Her fingertips gleam a dazzling white as they stretch toward me, reaching for skin. I can already feel the broken-glass sting of her touch and lunge backwards to avoid her ( _I don't like to be touched I don't like to be touched_ ).

"Stay _back_ ,” I bite out, baring my teeth. The shadow of the gun crosses her forehead and she gives it a glance before taking another step toward me.

With every step forward, she pushes me back until the back of my knees knock against the edge of the table, threatening my balance ( _get on your knees; I’m guessing you know how_ ).

“Shh…Shh, it’s just me, it’s just me,” she coos in soothing rhythm like a mother to her child.

“I don’t know you,” I whisper, and her fingers hesitate over my cheek. 

We share a breath before I thrust the gun into her side and step forward as she staggers back, hearing (Maggie’s) voice as smooth as a blade: ‘ _When others flinch, you will charge._ ’

I grab her elbow and swing her head-first onto the table until the room aches with the clap of bone against metal.

 

 

> [CELL: 2400 HOURS]
> 
> The woman in the photo is younger by five years and wears her hair plaited on one side, but I know her—I would recognize those eyes anywhere; flecks of galaxy brimming with space and burning stars.
> 
> My swollen tongue pushes against the roof of my mouth and forms her name in a froth of saliva—it sounds ungodly on these sloth lips. The photo is removed and replaced by a monitor whose screen is alight with shifting lines and bright colors.
> 
> “You drugged me,” I slur, too softly.
> 
> Dull fingernails rake over the back of my neck and prod at something heavy and thick sitting there until blots of darkness dance across my vision. The heaviness almost feels attached to my skull.
> 
> “Do you know who I am?”
> 
> I nod, and the woman continues. “Good. Recall for me, the first time you met her.”
> 
> “No,” I say as she circles the gravel court in my mind and fills my ears with her anxious breath.
> 
> The lines scrawl in quick peaks and divots across the screen as her first words tear through my mind, _I’m not Beth_!

Blood collects on my palm and spits constellations onto the concrete until the room focuses around me; I unclench my hand and feel as my innards knot like earth worms tortured by the sun. _When was that_?

Those words ring in my mind, _I’m not Beth I’m not Beth I’m not Beth_. I remember them rocking back and forth from my ears to my mouth like the ship that cradled my recovery, _I’m not Beth I’m not Beth I’m not Beth_.

Blinking hard, I can see Manning sagged against the table-side where she stares up at me, heaving her disbelief through pained breaths. Her skin has taken a violent shade of purple, but her eyes are as sharp as flint.

I grit through the churning in my stomach and raise the gun to her forehead. _Be quick_.

“I’m sorry—”

“Who are you?” She interrupts.

( _Who are you_?)

“Rachel,” I say, but my voice is distant, as if someone else were speaking.

( _I’m not Beth_!)

“Yeah, sorry; no way you are. Where’s Helena?” She asks; anger boils beneath her words.

“I _am_ Rachel,” I snarl, and she jolts at the sound of my voice.

"What’s my name?” She asks. Her voice is forcibly blank, and I can’t understand why.

 _I’m not Beth_. I see the dark flick of her hair as she searches for me while I tuck into her shadow, thrilled by the dangerous crunch of my boots against gravel.

Sweat beads along my forehead as I flip-flop between places. Blink. Manning narrows her eyes. Blink. The girl screams: _I’m not Beth I’m not Beth_! Blink. Their eyes match.

She repeats herself, slower this time, “What is my name?”

I smack my forehead shut up shut up and wait for the voices to stop, but they only grow louder— _I’m not Beth I’m not Beth I’m Not Beth! I’m Not-Beth I’m Not-Beth. I’m Not-Beth._

“ _Not-Beth_ ,” I whisper or scream—I can’t hear my own voice.

Her face gives a twitch of recognition and falls. Is that your name, Not-Beth? It feels wrong now that I’ve said it out loud, but somehow closer than Manning.

She presses her lips together and stares at me until the voices dwindle into murmurs, until her breath rides over all other sound, and my own panting dulls into background noise.

“What did they do to you?” She asks, voice falling.

Another voice rises from memory, prodded awake by the stab of Not-Beth’s eyes, ‘ _What happened to you_?’ A pair of eyes belonging to a little girl aligns with the voice, ‘ _What happened to you_?’ I remember the sound of her boots as she crossed the crooked cobble, the pound of her heart beside me as she clutched my shoulders, the terrible thud of metal against body; she flew into the air under the screech of halting car tires and kissed the ground in silence.

I close my eyes and shake away the memory.           

 “They saved me.”

Not-Beth makes an odd expression blurred somewhere between sadness and anger, and it makes the scar on my chest throb like a second heart.

 

> [CELL 2400 HOURS]
> 
> “Do you know why you’re here?”
> 
> “I ran.”
> 
> “You _tried_ to run, but more than that,” the woman replies, “You made a mess.” 
> 
> I remember their faces moving in unison, gray and dull, as they wormed their fingers through my wings—my scars, mine. They dug their yellow claws into the purple scabs and licked their chops at the sight of collecting blood.
> 
> “Good riddance.”
> 
> “I agree. Regardless, I’ve been authorized control over this sector of Castor —and I’m nothing like those animals you tore apart.”
> 
> As the woman moves closer, I see two eyes glittering in the darkness: one bright, and the other dark. One eye is a pouch of white with a dark pupil burning like a sun in the middle while the other eye is glaring blue-white and pupil-less. 
> 
> Her voice is sharp and clipped when she speaks again, “I will not be disobeyed.”

The moments between memories are growing shorter and more fragmented—disoriented, like the spasm of awareness before waking. None of this makes sense—the stranger, the cell—I was admitted in the annex after they found me; this isn’t right.

Not-Beth stares up at me silently. Blood has collected in a pocket around her eye and swollen it shut, making her unharmed eye gleam unnaturally bright ( _like night and day_ ).

When she speaks, her voice is grave in a way I hadn’t noticed before.

“I can fix this,” She says, “Whatever happened to you; I’ll make it right again—just like how you were before.”   

“A monster.”

 “No, that’s not true, you were never a monster.”

 _That’s not true._ I remember the sound of her voice as she knelt before the barrel of the sniper, swaddled in blue light. Her face, once a hazy streak, now focuses in my mind. A single tear trailed down her cheek as she recited words of comfort like gospel.

The words she said are muddied in my mind, blurred to obscurity like rain-streaked pages, but I remember the way I cradled them afterward; held them close to my heart, dreamed them in my sleep, and never let them touch my tongue.

( _You’re my_ —)

The memory dissolves under the familiar hum of intercom-static, followed by the sharp voice of the Commander.

“That’s enough. You’ve wasted my patience.”

The voice spurs a shift in Not-Beth’s expression, quick as a match, her jaw drops and her unharmed eye nearly bulges out of her socket. She stands up slowly and gestures to me.

“Helena, come here,” she whispers, eyeing the entrance.

Pollux stands by the door with his gun pointed and shoulders straightened, placed like a toy soldier. The light pooling in from the annex backlights his shoulders and creates a monstrous silhouette of a man.

“If you can’t finish the job, Pollux will replace you,” the Commander continues.

 “Please, Helena, you don’t understand,” Not-Beth says. Her voice quietly threads under the Commander’s.

“I can do it,” I say, eyeing Pollux. His growing smile glitters in the darkness.

Not-Beth approaches me slowly, edging along the cone of light with her silent feet, and I point the gun at her head.

They speak like the voices in my head, weaving together at the same time, their voices aligning perfectly as one of them says, “ _That’s Rachel_!” and the other, “ _Kill her_.” 

 

 

> [ANNEX: 0300 HOURS]
> 
> “That’s not right,” I mumble, staring at my fingers as they curl and uncurl, “My name isn’t Rachel.”
> 
> The man in front of me furrows his brow and starts walking toward me—too close, too close—until I peel my lips back into a snarl.
> 
> “Pollux, stop,” the Commander snaps. “Ignore him, he’s my hands.”
> 
> I mimic his hideous smile as he returns to his job of coiling up the hose. The Commander continues in a gentler tone, “You’re still raw, I understand. Unfortunately, we were unable to remove all of your…flaws. But we’ll resume soon. Has any other name come to you yet?”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “Well then, let’s stick with Rachel for now.”
> 
> My head feels like a bobble-head so I move it up and down because I think that’s what they want. Just as my neck begins to feel tight, I catch the color of the water as it slithers past my legs.

The slow drag of fingertips focuses the room around me, and I find myself staring into Not-Beth’s eyes. Her hands are warm and soft around mine as they fix the muzzle of the gun flush against her forehead.

But it's the Commander who breaks the silence.

"I gave you a conscience, a mind, a body, a name, all borrowed from a previous life but undoubtedly your own; a life separate from her," the Commander says. "Cut this final string, and you will be free."

“We will never be separate," Not-Beth murmurs. "We were meant to be together. Do you remember when you told me this?"

Light flares behind my eyes and I see her bloody wrists tied above her head as she scrambles against the white wall, away from me. _I shot you! You were dead, you were dead!_

She swallows audibly and I feel her parched throat, the dread twisting in her gut as she continues, “You never gave up on me. Now it’s my turn.”

“Helena or Rachel,” the Commander says. “It doesn't matter anymore, they are one and the same now.”

Not-Beth forces my finger on the trigger.

“Prove it.”  

>  [CELL: 2400 HOURS]
> 
> “You have a choice, Helena,” She says. I can see her teeth glittering in the dark along with her unblinking eyes.
> 
> Her fingers move into the light and touch my bare leg, “Would you like to know what it is?”
> 
> A lump keeps collecting in my throat, choking me slowly, until I have to swallow it, but it never goes away.  
> 
> “You don’t scare me,” I say.
> 
> “No?” She prods, barely interested. The slow crawl of her hand feels like a swarm of needle-legged bugs against my skin. 
> 
> “All been done before.”
> 
> She removes her hand and recedes into the darkness where I hear her turn a dial. Immediately, invisible hands seize my limbs in a fierce grip and shake me until my eyes feel like glassy marbles in my skull. I stare at the glaring light ahead and watch as random colors burst and expand, turning dark. My lips peel back from my teeth and freeze in a gritted smile.
> 
> When it’s over, my breath stalls in my chest. There’s a gentle throb in my ears that could almost be a pulse, except not, because it’s soundless, a memory; I think my heart stopped.
> 
> No thought enters my mind for several minutes. The woman’s hand covers my own.
> 
> “Do you feel it?” She whispers, “Silence so heavy it could suffocate. That, for a moment, there’s no past or present; no love, no anger, or fear, only silence.”
> 
> I can hear myself breathe again and it sounds like screaming.
> 
> Her hand brushes my cheek as rough as scales, and her voice is inescapable: “‘…and that must end us, that must be our cure: to be no more _._ ’”
> 
> “Please. Stop,” I rasp. My lips splinter with the slightest movement and fill my mouth with blood.
> 
> “Would you like to hear your choice now?”

The loud thump of her knees hitting concrete reaches my ears first, and then the gunshot. Her wide eyes stare up at me, clouded and confused, as a rosebud of blood blooms from her chest.

She leans forward as if in prayer until her forehead claps against the floor, and then all is silent. 

I stare, shell-shocked, as my finger sits unmoved on the trigger, the hammer cocked. A deep shiver ripples across my innards. _Bone of my bones; flesh of my flesh_.

> [CELL: 2400 HOURS]
> 
> _My God, why have you forsaken me_? The psalm loops in my head as I stare blindly into the light. My hands remain trapped on either side of my body, and my head in its crown of metal.
> 
> “(___) may take your place, and receive brain re-organization treatment. Or, you will wipe her from your memory entirely.”
> 
> “That’s not a choice,” I say, my voice can’t go above a whisper.
> 
> “It’s more generous a choice than I ever received,” Rachel says, “The memories will likely return to you eventually; mine did.”
> 
> “Why do it?”
> 
> She leans forward so that her whole face enters the light; mismatched though her eyes may be, they’re identical in their deranged gleam. Her smile is even brighter than the glaring light.
> 
> “They will be irrelevant by then; a mere reminder of the lesser being you once were. Of course, it will be more difficult for you. I had less memory to miss.”
> 
> “No, I mean…,” my voice cracks; I can't find a better word, “Why?"
> 
> The question feels too big for my mouth.
> 
> She gives no reply.

My head feels as if it were moving on a different world than my body; I am disjointed. Just outside the cone of light, I see Pollux behind a cloud of smoke. His gun remains pointed at Not-Beth’s chest.

 Without another thought, I move the gun and pull the trigger. 

> [CELL: 2400 HOURS]
> 
> “(____) will come for me,” I say, forcing this last spitting coal of faith into my words. Rachel makes a soft cooing sound and leans in close to stroke my cheek with the back of her hand.
> 
> “Of course she will, Helena. She’s your sister. She loves you. And when she comes, we’ll turn her away together.”
> 
> Heat flares at the back of my eyes.
> 
> “How do I know I won't hurt her?" My heart feels small in my chest, as if it were being torn between two hands and split apart.  
> 
> "You don't." 
> 
>   _Why are you so far from saving me?_
> 
> “I won’t forget her,” I whisper, “It’s impossible.” 
> 
> “You may even come to like yourself better after she’s gone.”
> 
> _So far from my cries of anguish?_
> 
> I try to speak, but my voice is just a sob caught at the back of my throat so I close my eyes and whisper her name in a mantra ( _____________ ) I won’t forget her, I won’t—
> 
> The sound of electricity crackles through the room, creating a network of licking blue flames along the metal bars attached to my head. Then a blanketing thunderclap covers my mind and resembles the hum of static. 
> 
> _My G o d, I cry out by (day), but you do not answer._
> 
> I know that my body is thrashing wildly, foaming at the mouth, and contorting with what must be agony, but I can’t feel myself move.
> 
> _By (night)_
> 
> A name rips from my lips and bursts in the air in the form of a question, or a prayer.
> 
> ( _Sarah_!)
> 
> _But I find no rest._

The bullet enters Pollux’s head from the left eye and paints the back wall with his remains. He collapses like a puppet, all falling bones and severed strings. His remaining eye turns glassy and opaque under the darkness surrounding him.

I kneel beside Sarah and pull her fragile bones into my arms, thrilling in the way her heart pounds beside mine.

Blood wets my hands, my body, my soul, as I tuck her head beneath my chin and stand up; she is an injured bird in my hands, a small fledgling; beautiful songbird.  

Her breath is hot and ragged against my chest, but she breathes.

> [ANNEX: 0300 HOURS]
> 
> “I’m bleeding,” I say. Pollux whips his head back to me and pulls the hose from its tight coil.
> 
> The blood wells between my thighs and stains the porcelain floor as tears collect silently in my eyes.
> 
> I want to say: ‘ _They’re gone, they’re gone_ ,’ but I can’t for the life of me remember what _they_ are, so I just repeat “I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding,” in a mantra until Pollux turns the jet-spray to my face.
> 
> _Goodbye angels_ , I think as the water washes over my face, my eyes, and body, and takes my blood with it. Like little red snakes slithering toward the metal drain. _Goodbye_.
> 
> “This can't be her first memory,” the Commander says, “Get rid of the blood and return her to the cell. We’ll have to do it again.”
> 
> Pollux grabs my shoulder and pulls me up from the floor.
> 
> “Why are you crying?" He asks.
> 
> I don't know.
> 
> I don't know.
> 
> I don't know.

I send another goodbye as I leave the annex. Rachel may have been in the room, maybe not—I never glanced from the open door. I never peeked through the windows of cells that once held prisoners as I strode through the colorless walls, never glanced at the shell-shocked soldiers who clustered the exit after I stepped through.

All that I hear is the sound of my sister’s heart echoing mine, and the clatter of lead stuck between our ribs.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE: IF you have made it to the end and are currently reading this note, please kudos and/or comment. The extra minute of your time would make my day exponentially better.  
>  **REFERENCES:**  
>  -Morgenstern is German for "morning star" which references both Lucifer and God in the bible.  
> -The title comes from A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning by John Donne.  
> -"This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh" --Adam to Eve, The Bible  
> -“And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more." -- Paradise Lost  
> \- 300 HOURS is military time for 3 am. The serpent tempted Eve in Genesis: 3.


End file.
